


Kilt Me Dead

by awkward_ace



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullenlingus, F/M, Friendship, Humor, I can't believe I just used that tag, I didn't know about this turn on until just this second, Romance, Sexy Times, Smut, it's just smut with some silliness attached, this is why we're friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkward_ace/pseuds/awkward_ace
Summary: The Inquisitor did not know of the existence of kilts until she walked outside one day and saw half her army dressed in them. There was something about the attire she couldn't quite place, but she had some trouble focusing. At least Dorian, best friend and confidant, understands because he's in the same predicament. And then she sees the Commander clad in kilt and realizes that she is in big trouble.A smutty little one-shot.





	Kilt Me Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> A little note. There will be mention of the Inquisitor's cousin, implying that he is Dorian and Iron Bull's lover. This is Haldir, my male Lavellan Inquisitor who is Pria's cousin in my head canon. He's in a few other little one shots I have posted, but I wanted to clarify who he is here. In Pria's story line as I've written it, he shows up to help out after the events of the war-table quest line "Save Clan Lavellan" and a little before Adamant. He and Cullen have developed a fairly close relationship.

NO PANTS NO PROBLEMS

Pria Lavellan was having a hard day. Not a _bad_ day just…difficult.

It had started normally enough; the sun had just started rising in the east, she had gotten out of bed, done her morning stretches and meditation, had hot tea, fruit, and toast for breakfast before finally coaxing a soundly sleeping Cullen awake with soft kisses and gentle strokes through his hair. He had grumbled at her before making a playful grab for her, one that she had easily avoided and retaliated to with a playful swat to his firm rear.

She’d slipped out of the room to the sound of his laughter, the image of his flushed, smiling face in her mind.

The trouble had started the moment she had set foot on the steps leading out of the great hall.

Pria had never seen a man wearing whatever it was that the Ferelden men were traipsing about in. It looked like a skirt that reached the knee, but with more pleats and wide leather belts slung around their hips. So it caught her by sudden surprise to see a small group of soldiers over near the tavern wearing them, sleeves rolled to their elbows and chests exposed by open collars as they chopped wood for the day. She couldn’t quite place what had her staring, but stare she did until she heard someone calling her and she pulled her attention back to her surroundings, taking the report that one of Leliana’s people handed her as they approached.

It got worse from there.

She saw a visiting cluster of Ferelden merchants playing friendly matches of their field games that involved things like trying to flip a long wooden pole as far as possible and flinging iron spheres around. It seemed dangerous, but they were wearing the strange skirts too and some of them were bare-chested.

Pria was watching them so closely that she completely missed an introduction Josephine made to her of several visiting nobles from the Free Marches and she had to blushingly stammer out apologies.

It seemed _all_ the Ferelden soldiers were bare-chested that day and wearing the things while at their training and sparring. She was descending the battlements into the yard then when she saw them, eyes catching broad, muscled chests and shoulders, strong, flexing arms. Skins gleaming with a layer of sweat. A faded tattoo thrown in here and there.

She missed a step, her feet slipping out from under her and she promptly tripped the last few stairs and landed, sprawled in a heap at Blackwall’s feet. He raised an eyebrow at her as she smiled sheepishly from the dirt, and helped her to her feet with a pitying look.

“Not a word,” she grumbled as she dusted herself off.

“Of course, Inquisitor.” It didn’t stop him from sounding overly amused by the situation. So she stuck her tongue out at him and turned on her heel, continuing on her way and not entirely able to keep her attention from wandering back to the men, again.

She half crashed into Dorian, who seemed to be in the same state she was.

“Andraste’s tits!”

“Ow! Dorian! I’m sorry! I’m just—”

“Distracted? Discombobulated? Thoroughly entranced?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“ _I can’t think under these conditions, Inquisitor. Do something._ ”

“Í can’t just go around ordering people what they can and can’t wear while they’re practicing!”

“Then I want one of these things to fit your cousin and Bull, and I want it _now_.”

“Do you think Bull would…?”

“I need to speak to the Ambassador,” he said, still looking a little wild-eyed as he turned and headed for the door at a brisk walk.

Pria, catching a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye, turned her head and caught sight of Ser Barris, also shirtless and wearing one of the skirt-things. Ser Barris was a very well put-together fellow.

She gawked and then shook her head almost violently, locking her gaze on the ground and she hurried after her friend. She’d be safer inside the keep, surely. There was a meeting for her to attend, anyway.

*-*-*-*-*

_Wrong. Wrong, wrong, so wrong!_

Nope. Not safe. At all. Worse.

Cullen had one. Cullen was wearing one.

Cullen was wearing one in red and gold plaid with only a soft cotton shirt and his belt, for whatever reason having decided to skip the armor for the day. The damn thing hugged his svelte waist, the wide belt drawing attention to lean hips, his shirt was open a little past his collar and _dammit she knew every inch of that body that was under those clothes_.

He was doing this on purpose, surely he had to _know_ …!

Pria fumed silently as he updated them on the troop movements and the progress of rebuilding in the Exalted Plains.

“Inquisitor?”

She blinked, snapping out of her silent fuming, looked around as she felt her face heat, “Yes! Sorry! What?”

Her advisors looked at her oddly—it was unlike her to not pay attention.

“Captain Rylen has sent a request for a few more engineers in order to sink another well—if we can spare them?” Cullen repeated, an eyebrow lifted in silent question.

“Oh! Uhm—yes, of course. If you believe we can, I mean. Commander.” She silently cursed herself as she listened to her stumbling, scrabbling sentence. _Get it together, Lavellan!_

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Leliana asked, “You seem a bit piqued.”

“Fine!” Pria chirped, in what she hoped was a convincing tone. Judging from the look she got from her spymaster, it was not.

There was a few moments of silence as they all looked at her, and then Josephine ( _Bless her with happiness and long, healthy life!_ ) saved her with a delicate cough. “If there is nothing else,” the ambassador said, “I have a stack of missives up to my knee to address. Commander, I believe that you are expected on the grounds for inspection.”

“I am. Sister Leliana,” he said, inclining his head as he gathered his paperwork, “Inquisitor.”

“Commander,” Leliana replied. Pria waved mutely as he and Josephine walked out and then dragged her hands over her face as the door closed.

“Are you really alright?”

“I think I need a drink.”

Leliana’s lip curled in amusement, a twinkle in her eyes telling Pria that the woman was doing her best to not laugh right there in her presence. “He does make quite a striking figure outside the armor too, doesn’t he?”

Pria felt herself go red again and she turned on her heel for the door, “Not a word, Leliana!”

“Of course, Inquisitor!”

She still heard the spymaster break into a fit of muffled laughing as the door swung shut behind her.

*-*-*-*-*

A drink or two with Sera on their roof-top spot later and Pria felt more herself, and safe enough to try and walk through the yards again. She could walk through her own soldiers without gawking like some hormonal child. She was thoroughly able to control herself!

So she followed the stairs to the yard, saw that there were fewer men about, and most there were wearing their uniforms. Even if she was capable of controlling herself, she gave an inward sigh of relief and relaxed.

The danger was past.

A loud thud and some laughing drew her attention and she found a cluster of soldiers leaning against the fence surrounding one of the pens.

“A good attempt! On your feet, try again.”

Her ears perked at Cullen’s voice, and some of the men shifted, opening a gap in their line.

_Danger is not past! DANGER IS NOT PAST._

Pria suddenly found herself with her breath caught in her throat, a dry mouth, and thrilling, delicious heat running through her body, tingling trails lighting up along the inside of her thighs and down her sternum and belly, the same trails that Cullen’s fingertips had traced the night before.

He was still wearing that stupid skirt-thing. But now he was shirtless, coated in a sheen of sweat with his golden hair gleaming in the sun. A curl of it had escaped to rest against his forehead. He was leaning on his sword, one foot tucked lazily behind the other and looking completely at ease in his surroundings.

The soldier facing off against him was back on his feet and falling into position, so Cullen straightened, muscles rippling like a big cat’s as it slinks along.

Her body remembered those muscles and how they felt shifting against her and under her hands. How it felt to have those arms circle her tightly and lift her up, how it felt to have those hips between her legs and—

She walked right into the low hanging beam of the message post. It was not a gentle collision.

When her stunned, blurred vision cleared, she found herself on the ground, for the second time that day, and with a cluster of concerned faces around her.

Cullen knelt by her, a worried frown knitting his brow.

“Inquisitor?” he said, gently sliding a hand under her neck and helping her slowly sit up, “Are you alright?”

“Ow. What—ow!—did I hit?” she touched her forehead gingerly, pulled her hand back and found her fingertips dotted with blood.

“You hit the beam, m’lady,” one of the soldiers said. “Solid hit, too.”

Embarrassment hit her in a wave and she covered her eyes with a hand. “ _Kaffas_ ,” she muttered.

“Do you want a healer, Your Worship? You’re uhm…bleeding.”

Bleeding. Embarrassed. And still randy because Cullen was beside her, still wearing that _stupid skirt-thing and shirtless and why does he have to be so fucking gorgeous?!_

“I’m fine,” she said, a little tersely as she got to her feet, brushed Cullen’s attempt to assist her away.

She swayed for a moment before her balance settled and she wiped the blood from her forehead on her sleeve in annoyance. “I’m fine,” she repeated, “Please, carry on. I need to see the Ambassador.”

She started off, the men slowly drifting back to what they had been doing. Cullen followed after her because _of course he did, he was a thoughtful, caring man and would worry himself sick because she was bleeding because her dumb ass had walked into a fucking pole._

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, quietly, “I have never seen you run into anything even when you weren’t looking ahead.”

He smelled of sweat and leather and trodden earth. A little musk and spice. A little shiver of want slid down her back and she furiously ignored it.

“Pria?” he said, when she didn’t answer, reaching out to set his hand gently on her waist, pulling her to a stop and to look at him. “Love?”

She tensed like a bowstring, rounded sharply enough he took a half step back.

“What the _hell_ is that you are wearing?!” she demanded in a sharp whisper.

“I—what? This?” he glanced down at himself, looked back up to her in utter bafflement, “It’s a kilt—it’s been so warm lately—”

“A kilt. Right. Thank you.”

She turned again and started her quick march towards the stairs, turned once more to hold up a hand as he stepped after her. “No—you stay here, Commander. I need to speak to Josephine alone.”

She resumed her journey, leaving him standing at the foot of the stairs in complete bewilderment.

*-*-*-*-*

Pria all but kicked the door to Josephine’s office open, startling the woman so badly she visibly jumped and blotted ink as her pen scraped over the paper in front of her.

“Inquisitor!” she said, hand pressing to her chest as she let out a heavy breath, “Goodness, you _startled_ me—”

“No. More. Kilts.”

Josephine blinked, brow furrowing in confusion as Pria approached the desk and leaned on it till she was eye level with the woman.

“I’m…sorry?” Josephine said, tone actually saying _What the fuck are you on about?_

“Kilts, Josie. No more. _I can’t focus with them._ ”

Josephine blinked again, looking her over, perplexed, “Oh?”

“I just walked into the message post, Josie. _I cannot focus with people wearing kilts._ ”

A slight, almost unladylike snort escaped the Antivan before she got herself back under control, doing her best to keep the smile from appearing on her face, “ _Oh_.”

“Please tell me we can ban them.”

“We _could_ but I would not advise it, Inquisitor. On warmer days like this, such…attire is much more comfortable for the men. It would be wiser to allow them the comfort.”

“ _Dammit_.”

“I am sorry, Inquisitor. I wish I had a solution for you.”

Pria hung her head in defeat, “It’s alright. You’re right, of course. I’ll just…try to avoid posts.”

“Please do. And perhaps have that scrape looked at? I can only imagine the fretting the Commander will do if he sees it.”

“He has seen it and can keep fretting because if that burly, kilt-wearing Ferelden comes anywhere near me right now, I’m not responsible for what happens,” came the growled reply.

Josephine covered her mouth as Pria turned on her heel and stalked out of the office, glowering, and peeked at the door leading to the war room.

Leliana peeked out after a moment, looked over to her friend and raised an eyebrow. A moment of silence passed between them, an entire unspoken conversation happening.

And then they both dissolved into full-bodied giggling.

*-*-*-*-*

Pria had a blessedly sympathetic Dorian (“I have almost done the same thing several times, my dear friend. These Ferelden’s are _distracting_ today.”) clean the scrape and then spent the rest of the day avoiding kilts, soldiers, and Cullen in particular.

She knew he was trying to find her because she kept getting glances of him across the room and would hastily duck aside before he could see her. And because Sera was in a fit of hysterics after she heard about the post incident—by now the entirety of the keep had heard of the Inquisitor’s little injury, even if they weren’t sure of _why_ the elf was suddenly incapable of avoiding obstacles—and Cullen had shown up at the door to Sera’s room looking for her. Pria had made a hasty exit off the roof, had nearly crashed into Krem as he came out of the tavern.

She had finally taken shelter in one of the unused towers of the keep, had found Cole there playing with a few of the cats that lurked about. She stayed with the young man and the felines for a few hours before sneaking into her room and having dinner brought up to her and a bath drawn.

Now she relaxed back into the tub, sinking into the hot water with a sigh until it closed over her head and blocked out the world except for the sound of her own pulse in her ears.

_No kilts here. I can just work from here, right? It’ll get cold again, we’re in the mountains._

She released the breath she was holding, watching the cloud of bubbles rise before pushing herself up again, wiping her face and slicking her hair back as she sat up. The chill air of her room was refreshing against her skin.

“Pria?”

She froze, eyes widening a bit, ears quivering. _That beautiful, wonderful, stubborn worry-monger!_

Cullen came into her line of vision, setting his boots beside her couch as was his habit, his hair still a little tousled from his practice, brow pinched in concern, his warm brown eyes searching her face. “I’ve been trying to find you all afternoon—are you alright?” he said, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck, absently working out the tension that was practically always there.

The movement rucked the hem of his shirt up, exposing the strong plane of his stomach and the fine trail of hair that started at his navel. Pria’s eyes narrowed and something in her snapped.

_Right. That bloody thing is coming off._

She was up and out of the tub faster than Cullen could follow, had seized his collar and pulled him into a rough, hungry kiss before he knew what was happening. He tensed, and she bit his lip sharply, earning a groan of pleasure and he melted into her, his warm, strong hands moving to slide over her curves and back. She made a sound, a low, throaty growling moan as one cupped her breast and squeezed.

“Pria,” he panted when she pulled back, his eyes a molten honey, glazed with lust.

“Cullen,” she purred in reply before sliding her hands down his chest to grab the hem of his shirt and pull it up and off him quickly, tossing it aside. He breathed out, heavily, quickly, his hands moving to tangle in her hair as he closed the distance again and kissed her fiercely, tongue sweeping across her lips and past to devour her.

Her fingers made quick work of unbuckling his belt, letting it fall as they slipped along the waistband of his kilt, finally finding the clip that held it shut and loosening it. It fell away, exposing him to the air, and she noted from some distant, distracted part of her mind that apparently small clothes were _not worn_ under kilts. He moaned into her mouth as she cupped him, slender hand rubbing and tracing along him teasingly until he growled, breaking from her lips in favor of working hungrily down her neck, easily scooping her up and moving them to the bed.

Pria gasped softly, back arching as he settled on top of her, grinding her hips up against his, moaning lowly as his hard length slid against her. He shivered with a faint grunt, hips rolling back against hers in mindless response as his lips and teeth worked over her collarbone, nipping and kissing.

Her fingers carded through his hair, raking it further out of place, slid along his jaw. “Cullen,” she whispered heatedly, bit softly at his ear, just hard enough that he moaned quietly and tilted his head to kiss her. She sighed into it, returned it for a moment before nipping at his lip, barely pulled back. “I want your mouth, _Honey-tongue_ ,” she breathed heatedly, rolling her body slowly up against his, knowing that feeling her skin to skin, her thighs, stomach and breasts pushing into his, her hips grinding against his drove him mad.

He shivered violently, groaning loudly, wantonly as their bodies pressed and slid, as her hands smoothed down his back, her nails scratching his skin. His face flushed a little, as it always did when she called him that name, but his eyes darkened, desire blowing the pupils wide. “As you wish, my lady,” he whispered roughly, kissing her lips softly before pushing back to spread her legs wider and settle between them.

She shivered as he kissed along the inside of her thigh, the stubble on his jaw scraping delicately over her skin, his teeth leaving faint, loving little nips along the way. His hands smoothed along her legs, guiding one over his shoulder and settled on her hips, thumbs lightly tracing over the place where they curved into her legs and then he felt the ghost of his breath and his tongue gently swept over her.

She moaned, softly, her back arching as he began to lap and kiss her folds, tongue sweeping between to part them, flicking past to tease inside of her. Crackles of pleasure danced along her spine and limbs, a coil of heat flaring to life in her lower belly and slowly tightening with every soft circle of his tongue.

“ _Cullen_ ,” she moaned, voice low and worshipful, a hand fisting into the furs, the other carding gently through his hair.

He ran his tongue over her again, parting her folds gently and dipping into her, sliding his hand to her lower belly and pressing carefully, the pressure sending a soft, constant stream of pleasure through her and locking her hips down as she shivered and moved to arch them, wanting to be closer to that beautiful mouth. Each flick of his tongue sent chills up her spine, jolts of hot pleasure through her, making the coil inside her tighten. Her moans grew louder, her breathing more ragged; she mewled softly in protest when he stopped.

His breath fanned over her hotly, made her shiver as he pulled back a little, a hand moving to lightly run two fingers over the outside of her, rubbing teasingly up and down before slowly pushing inside and then drawing back out. Her breath let out sharply, a slight whimper escaping.

 Her hips bucked as his tongue circled her clit, his fingers sliding inside her again to work her, and she screamed softly as he began to suckle at the little bundle of nerves. A stream of Elvhen escaped her, breathless and prayerful as her back arched sharply, cut off suddenly when he ever so gently nipped. Her breath stopped, catching raggedly before a loud, animalistic groan escaped her, her body writhing under him as she saw white, the tension in her exploding into a blur of heat and pleasure that sent her over the blissful edge.

He continued his soft attention to her, building her release, heightening it until she was trembling, finally pulling away to work heated, feathery kisses up her stomach and sternum.

She slumped back onto the furs, panting until his lips pressed against her breast and he drew a nipple lightly into his mouth. Her hands tangled in his hair, drawing him up to her and she kissed him almost violently, biting at his lip and dragging it between her teeth as she pulled back, swallowing his loud, almost whimpered moan. “ _Honey-tongue_ ,” her voice was rough, heated and it sent a shiver down his spine.

“Maker’s breath,” he gasped faintly, moaned again as she rolled her hips against his, “The things you do to me.”

“Your turn,” she murmured impishly, pushing his shoulder and rolling them over, setting him on his back as she straddled him. She lightly traced a fingertip over his brow and down his nose, sketched it along his scar and his lips. They parted faintly, just enough to nip and kiss, his eyes hooded as he looked back at her. “My body or my mouth, lover?”

Cullen made a slight protesting noise, one that cut off sharply as she rolled against him again, a slither of heat winding up her spine as his cock ground against her still tingling core. “You expect me to—ah!” his back arched sharply, head falling back with a worshipful cry as she leaned down and sank her teeth into a spot on his neck that always reduced him to a pleading, gasping heap.

“ _Fuck!_ ” he whined as she sucked roughly at the spot, nails digging into her skin as he shuddered under her, breath stilting in sharp, panting breaths. She hummed softly against his neck and slowly let go, running the edge of her tongue over the red mark left behind on his pale skin. “Decide, vhenan,” she whispered, kissing just above it, a feather light touch.

“You,” he panted breathlessly, hands squeezing her hip and thigh, “Body.”

He moaned quietly into her mouth as she kissed him deeply, hand sliding delicately over his chest and stomach, moaned again, louder as she carefully guided him into her and sank down slowly until the base of him pressed against her.

She pulled back with a heavy breath, pressing her forehead to his briefly as she shivered and enjoyed the sensation of him filling her, and began to slowly move, riding him with soft rolls of her hips. His breath rushed out with a faint whisper of her name, his back arching faintly as he moved back against her, carefully until they found their rhythm and then his hands slid to her hips to grip her tightly.

She was still tingling from her climax, could feel herself still clenching faintly around him and she shifted further forward to brace herself against his shoulders, widening her legs with a soft, pleasured sound. He moaned, hips lifting to meet hers, sheets and furs rustling faintly beneath them, broken breaths and whispers escaping parted lips. One of his hands snaked its way up her stomach and chest to her neck, threaded into her hair to tug her down for hungry, heated kisses.

A ragged, guttural sound escaped him as she tightened herself around him, a blur of pleasure spreading through her pelvis from the resulting stretch of him, and his hand on her hip tightened, his thrusts up into her growing stronger, their rhythm starting to become more erratic. Pria pulled back from their kisses, slid her hands worshipfully down his chest, nails barely scraping his skin as she tightened her thighs around his waist; she felt his hand slide along the inside of her thigh, gasped quietly as his thumb brushed teasingly at her clit before starting to circle it.

“Tease,” she said airily, distractedly, already feeling the coil of heat building quickly again.

His hand at the back of her neck pulled her down a little again, his teeth biting roughly at her collar. “Come for me again, Pria,” he rumbled, panting, against her skin.

It didn’t take long for another orgasm to crash into her, roaring through her body in a wave of sparks. She cried out, shivering to a stop over him, back arching as she finished, clenching around him. She felt him groan more than heard, and several moments later his body shuddered beneath her as his own end found him, drawn out for a few more thrusts before he collapsed back against the mattress, breathless.

She let herself sink down on top of him, a tingling, warm glow suffusing her entire body as she caught her breath, listened to his heart thundering in her ear.

“ _Maker_ ,” he whispered after a short while, shifting his hand to glide it over her back. “Not that I’m complaining _at all_ but where did that come from?”

She couldn’t stop the slight, gasping giggle that escaped her. “Frustration,” she murmured in reply, nuzzling his sternum before shifting to stretch out against his side, draping a leg comfortably over his waist.

“Frustration? With what?”

“You.”

“ _Me_? What did I do?” the bafflement in his voice was cute. She glanced up to see him looking at her, brow furrowed.

“You and every other Ferelden were wearing those damn _kilts_ all day. Do you have any idea how distracting they are? And then you were in the war room showing off that figure and then again in the yard without a shirt and it’s just _frustrating_ because _surely_ _you are aware of how good you look in that stupid thing_.”

An eyebrow had been slowly creeping up his forehead, a smirk tugging at his mouth, turning into a roguish, lop-sided smile. “You’re telling me I was attacked for wearing a kilt?”

“For wearing a kilt and looking _distracting_ in it! You can’t do that, Cullen, I have work to do too!”

He burst out laughing and only laughed harder as she sat up to glower at him, nose wrinkled in annoyance as she gently pushed him. “No more kilt wearing! Promise me!”

“I will make no such promise!”

“Cullen!” she whined.

His smile broadened and he sat up to kiss her forehead softly before slipping from the bed and scooping her up in his arms, walking towards the tub. “I will try to be mindful and not antagonize you too much,” he said as he set her back on her feet beside it, “Will that suffice?”

Pria pouted at him for a moment or two before conceding with a heavy sigh and a slight eye roll. “Alright, fine,” she replied, waving a hand over the water, steam once again rising from the surface of it, “I’m maybe being a little unreasonable.”

Cullen kissed her softly, pressed his forehead to hers, “Considering that you are normally entirely rational, I think you’re allowed a moment or two of it.”

“Not one word, ser.”

His smile came back, a tad impish this time as he slipped an arm around her waist to coax her into the water with him. “What? Me, give away the secret that the Inquisitor apparently can’t concentrate around a few men wearing kilts? _Never_ , my lady.”

“Fenedhis. I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

“Most definitely not.”

*-*-*-*-*

_A week later. A formal party for visiting dignitaries and to mark the promotion of Ser Barris to Knight-Commander._

Pria stared straight at him, pointedly, the only hint of her flustered fury the slight line between her brow and the thin press of her lips.

_You gorgeous, infuriating **tease** , Cullen Rutherford!_

Cullen looked right back at her, the innocent look on his face a sharp contrast to the wicked gleam in his eyes, the knowing smirk tilting his lips.

He was wearing that _damn kilt_ , and he looked absolutely _mouth-watering_ having it paired with a tailored, formal military jacket and rich brocade waistcoat, sword hanging from the wide belt at his hip. He was a vision of gleaming gold and scarlet.

And the smug ass had gotten every other Ferelden officer to wear similar attire.

She was going to _murder_ him.

The vengeful glower being directed his way only seemed to amuse him because the smirk widened and he winked at her playfully before turning away to direct his attention back to Ser Barris and the cluster of soldiers by them.

_That’s it, I am buying the most risqué thing I can get away with and wearing it at the next function._

She downed the rest of her wine in one go, glanced at Dorian as he stalked over to stand beside her, looked at him again when she saw the rigid set of his spine and the tense way he held his jaw.

“Dorian?”

“I’m going to _murder_ your cousin,” he informed her in a sharp, terse mutter. “He’s wearing that _damn thing_. As if it wasn’t bad enough with every other officer wearing the things!”

Pria blinked slowly before looking around, finally found Haldir standing towards the other end of the hall and her eyes widened a bit in surprise.

He was wearing a kilt, too, one of deep blue crossed with green and gold that matched the dark blue waistcoat and silk shirt he wore. It was a little shocking to her how well the ensemble fit him, how easily he seemed to have taken to the decidedly human clothing. His sable hair was braided back and hung over a shoulder.

She watched as he meandered his way through the crowd, picking up three tankards from a passing server with a slight smile, stopping between Barris and Cullen to dole out two of the mugs and toasting the newly promoted Templar.

“He’s gone native!” she whispered in surprised.

“I know!” Dorian whispered back, “If I knew he’d turn into one of these southern barbarians, I never would have gotten him one!”

“That bit you in the ass, Dorian.”

“ _You’re_ one to talk! Don’t think I haven’t seen those little looks our dear Commander has been tossing your way!”

“I’m going to _kill him_.”

Haldir caught their eyes on him as he lowered his tankard and he quirked an eyebrow before his eyes flicked around the room, to Cullen and over the man. Flicked back to the pair watching. He smirked.

Pria felt her stomach sink and Dorian tensed even more, if possible, beside her. “Kaffas,” he muttered, “He is too damn _perceptive_.”

“He always has been,” she muttered irritably.

Haldir had leaned in and murmured near Cullen’s ear, prompting a rather pleased grin to sneak onto the man’s face. He and the elf looked over to her and Dorian and gave a faint, almost mocking, bow.

Pria and Dorian both scoffed in irritation and turned away at the same moment. “Fucking _kilts_ ,” they growled.

**Author's Note:**

> This all started because I saw a pin-up sort of style picture of one Mr. Rutherford on a mug clad in kilt and looking all...pin-uppy? Broody? Something like that. Then I saw another picture of him in a kilt and wearing that lion-head helmet of his with a sword and my brain went "Okay, let's do this, self, you wanted to give something new a go". 
> 
> And thus, smutty mcsmutsmutsmut.
> 
> A big thank you to VeraLynn for reading this for me before posting! I live for our text-based shouting. Your support means the world to me, my friend.


End file.
